vaya con pance

Ever since I moved back to Greenpoint (first stint circa 2003), I’ve had a special place in my heart for the Mexican dive on my block, Papacitos. It’s hipster-hole-in-the-wall popular (they serve Vegan breakfast burritos after all), with a patio in the back that literally feels like you’re somewhere off a dirt road in Mexico. This past Spring they bought out the crazy psychic lady next door, expanded and have been in a painfully stagnant state of “applying for our liquor license” ever since.

A Mexican restaurant that has no means of getting tequila into my mouth?!? Well. Hang on. Sniff. I need a tissue.

Last night I walked by on my way home and if a chalked-up sandwich board could scream for joy, it would. It’s going to be a mighty warm winter, Charlie Brown.

Tonight I took a Yoga class at my gym. I’m not a huge Yogi, but every now and then I enjoy a change in the ol’ exercise routine of run, spin, pilates, bike, repeat. Bring on the Down Dog. Class began with a little get-into-your-zen speech on balance. Particularly the importance of finding mental balance, of not letting thoughts go to either extreme. Ala, even the best thought, when thunked too powerfully, can be harmful. Teach your brain to embrace its [natural] shade of grey.

Good thing I’m a Libra. Balance is my, uh, birthright. I can do this.

Fast forward to a crowded subway ride home. I’m carrying a full and heavy grocery bag, my gym bag and my purse. With nary a free hand to hold on, I fall into my neighbor when the train jerks under the East River, violently cursing NYC-living in my head. Balance lost.

But down the car I spot a smiley schmoopy couple with two huge pumpkins in tow. Not one to share because more than that is a hefty haul for a train ride. Two. His/her pumpkins. This makes me feel very even. Balance found.

Clearly I’m thinking about all this way too much, negating the very point of *not* thinking about anything too much. Tomorrow it’s back to spinning. Yoga stresses me out.

I went out to a nice dinner this week with 3 friends and 3 iPhones. White table cloths, $25+ entrees, a sommelier, candlelight, witty conversation and a roaring game of app envy. Sigh. Somewhere between wine refills, over the table’s warm LCD glow, my eyes actually met the waiter’s in a look of shared disdain. (His was just in a French accent.)

And believemeyou, I write this with the mostest love for all my friends under gadget attack (and most of you are). Can we enjoy a hands-free meal or drink sometime soon? I want to feel like the fact that I am really there – a 3D walking, talking, laughing human being – is somehow more rewarding than typing on tiny keys to someone who, for whatever reason, is not there. I’m fun dammit! The iconic thumbnails, though they may provide instant trivia relief, will not – I promise – take you to a better place. There’s a Pance for that.

You know it must’ve been a decent work happy hour (held *in* the office), when bright ‘n’ early the next morning you shuffle to the kitchen and find a bottle of Jager shamefully hiding on the counter, as if it passed out and woke up where it doesn’t really belong.

I used to run around singing the mantra that people are inherently evil, not inherently good. My friends and family were always quick to argue of course, a statement like that is an easy target. But, ya know, I stand by the quip. However, let’s switch “evil” with selfish and “good” with giving — which is more or less the same thing just without the connotation of fangs.

Even when folks *think* they are acting selflessly, doing something for you, about you, to you, at the end of the day, it’s really all about them. Who are we kidding? Do we not give gifts simply because the gesture pleases us? Lend someone an inch of your ear and they’ll take a mile of your time. And how ’bout that ego boost when someone leans on you in their time of trial? Makes you stand a little prouder, a little smugger. El numero uno. Animal instinct. Survival of the fittest. Grrroowwwlll.

Sadly, when I feel hurt by selfish behavior, I go into social hibernation. Screw you guys, I’m goin’ home. I’m gonna have me-time, me-time and more me-time. So there. Hmmmm. Speaking of selfish…